


We’re All In This Together

by joewalkerdies



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: F/M, High School, M/M, gamer moment, half the characters in tags are background, this is a paulkins/mander rp that I edited and transcribed here, warning: headcanons aplenty here, yeah this is a high school AU what about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joewalkerdies/pseuds/joewalkerdies
Summary: AU where every character is around the same age and they all went to Hatchetfield High, but they’re also rivals for SPICE. What happens when you throw the theatre kids and the basketball team in the gym all at once and tell them to practice? Homoeroticism. That’s what happens.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins, Xander Lee/John McNamara
Comments: 5
Kudos: 3





	1. a dyslexic man walks into a bra (actually a gym)

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to we’re all in this together!! as mentioned in tags this was a roleplay I did with two friends that lasted from august-september earlier this year, so if this doesn’t feel like a traditional fanfic, that’s why. I tried to shift around messages as best I could to get it feeling like a fix but there are still some iffy cuts in places. we roleplay a LOT so there’s a lot of stuff for me to sort and edit but I’ll try and update this at least every other day! 
> 
> as for cast, my friend myranda played emma, my friend émile played john, howie and others, and I played paul, xander, davidson, and others.

Paul Matthews had always been told that high school sucked, but he chose not to believe them. Every year, he denied it more and more, but it was this, his third year of high school, that he couldn’t deny it any longer. He stood at the edge of a cataclysm, a world ending event— the thirty-third argument between Student Coach Lee and, as Paul affectionately thought of him, ‘The Theatre Guy.’ Of course, these hushed arguments in the gym truly meant nothing to him. He hated basketball— this was a fact that wasn’t very hidden. The kid was a nerd, but his jackass stepdad forced him into it and his mom didn’t want to say no. The athletic part wasn’t even bad— he was lanky, and it came to him easy enough. His biggest problem there was the coordination. It was the hormones and the boring politics and strategy that got to him. How the hell something could be so planned out yet so unpredictable, he didn’t know. He preferred concrete statistics. Too bad for him, because now he had to deal with the age-old scheduling issues of Principal Davidson. Why did he always schedule the theatre kids and the basketball team to use the gym at the same time? God knows. But if Paul had to listen to those god-awful Irish accents and the dancing and the singing and the acting one more day, he might lose it.

Macnamera threw open the entrance, holding the door for the prop and costumes racks to be brought in. "Alright get moving, we have three hours and two dances to go through." He stopped the door with a wedge, then continued, "And we will be doing scenes one through three off book so I don't wa-" His directions were cut off as he made eye contact with /him/— Xander Lee, head of the basketball team. "No, no— this is our gym right now!”

“But I’ve already got the guys running suicides,” Xander said, nose scrunched contemptedly, gesturing to Paul and the others who were, in fact, running suicides. Paul had learned to pace himself in the running, so there was only a faint, dull throbbing in his sides. 

“Your music’s distracting. Da— /Coach/ needs us ready for the game on Friday,” Xander continued, frowning. “Tell Davidson he can kiss my— no. Tell him you guys can practice outside or in the hall or whatever. We need this space more!”

Macnamera let out a strained sigh through his nose— “No, you can go outside with your greasy uniforms and bodies. We have /costumes/, okay?" He explained— or, more so, /told/ Xander as he approached him. "We can't go outside." He’d had this argument with Xander many times. They used to be friends, study partners! And yet, now, he was arguing with him so often he could’ve thought this was a team building exercise from Mr. Davidson gone wrong.

“There are no hoops outside, genius, and the asphalt’s too rough to actually dribble. Your ‘costumes’ can handle some time in the sun,” Xander pressed on, frowning. “/We/ can’t go outside.”

Paul merely stared on, sighing. This whole thing just sucked. He squinted up at the stage at the theatre kids, partly disgusted. He’d never understand the singing and dancing.

Macnamera's eyes widened. “Maybe you haven't noticed, but these costumes are white and-“ As he watched the crew from the corner of his eye, someone stepped out of line. He scoffed— "Sam, you weren't given a prop for a reason, step away from the prop table!" He sighed, tired, turning back to Xander. "My point is, get out. This is our time slot." 

Emma wasn’t surprised when she saw her name on the cast list for Brigadoon. She looked through and saw that she was Bonnie Jean.. She also saw that the literal scum of the planet was playing her love interest. Sam was such a fucking douche bag— she was so pissed when she found out they had a stage kiss, she threw up in her mouth. She’d thought about quitting, but she had nothing better to do. Watching this ‘debate’ go on, she realized she couldn’t care less where they rehearsed. Emma, being attracted to males, was looking at the basketball players. They seemed as annoyed as she was. 

She had precisely no reason to care, other than the fact that she was burning up in her jean costume. It was hot in the gym and the dress wasn’t helping— it was long sleeved and was layered under the skirt. “Why don’t we just postpone rehearsal till after basketball practice?” Emma said, trying to talk over the noise in the gym. “Or, they could postpone theirs ‘till after ours.”

“No,” said Xander, incredulously. “Practice is /now./ What are we supposed to do, just sit around for two hours?” He asked, rummaging for his phone in his pocket and pulling something up, shoving it in Macnamera’s face. It was a picture of a scheduling slip, signed off by Mr. Davidson. “Can’t you just do your thing somewhere else? This is a waste of time, we’re on the clock here.” He agitatedly spat, gesturing to the scoreboard that had a flashing, ticking red digital clock on it. 

Macnamera's face scrunched up as he rummaged in his binder before pulling out their permission slip and shoving it into Xander's hand. "No, the dancers need placement tape on the stage! Can't you— just— go dribble in the parking lot or something?"

Xander huffed, pausing before grabbing Macnamera by the wrist. “I’ve had it. We gotta go talk to the guy,” he said, pushing up his sunglasses on his nose with his free hand and marching him out of the gym, door slamming behind them.

"Fine, we'll go prove I'm right." He huffed, pulling his hand away, walking down the hall trying to calm down. "..Sorry. I shouldn't have been so harsh, it's just— this is, like, the tenth time-" Maybe he should pick up one of those 'Zen and Strength Of the Heart' books.

“We’ll be proving I’M right,” Xander corrected, stopping by some lockers and sighing. “Look, man. I know this isn’t your fault, but it’s gotta be frustrating for you guys too. I wish I didn’t have to be a dick about it, I just want the best things for my guys. You get that, right?” He asked, making eye contact, exhaling.

He turned locking eyes with him giving a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, the real problem is that we need the stage to rehearse and you need the hoops,” he said, then exhaled and continued, "and it's every time, like Davidson forgets we have one gym.”

The Basketball Boyz™ skidded to a stop, glancing around and wondering what to do. Some went and picked up their waters and gatorades from the bleachers, cooling off— others gathered in chunks to socialize, while others still pulled their phones from their pockets and texted a friend or pulled their earbuds and listened to something. Paul was one of the former, going to pick up his water bottle and chugging some down. He sat it back on the bleacher, sighing and pulling his phone. He had no one here to socialize with.

A very certain basketball player caught Emma’s eye. He was familiar, but she could never remember a time that she had talked to him. He was alone, and she really didn’t talk to any of her castmates anyway, so. She caught herself looking at him for a prolonged amount of time, then looked away for a second— only to decide to walk over to the guy. She sat beside him and asked, “So,,, why are you not talking to the other basketball guys?”

Paul startled at the sound of Theatre Girl. His brow creased as he sat his phone face-down in his lap. “We’ve got nothing in common. Why do you care?”

“We probably do have /some/ things in common,” Emma replied, getting a little defensive at his response. “I mean, neither of us are talking to our own people, so...” She was just trying to make conversation with him— jeez.

“I was just answering your question— I have nothing in common with THEM. But I guess I’ve got nothing in common with you either,” he said, frowning. 

Xander nodded. “I know. If the school just had a separate auditorium and gym, it’d be fine, but budget cuts.” He shrugged. “I don’t know why he can’t just schedule us for different days or times. Like, you guys could take morning and we could take afternoon. It’s not that hard!”

Macnamera parroted the nod. “Exactly! You'd think he would know that-" He paused, a strange premonition creeping up his spine. "You... You don't think he meant to do this, right?"

Xander squinted at him behind his shades, pushing them down his nose so he could actually look him in the eye. “Meant to do what? Force the theatre geeks and Basketball Boys together so we can live in harmony or some crap?”

After a beat of silence, Xander groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, okay— sorry, I didn’t-“ Emma shifted, flustered. “..I don’t have much in common with the other theatre kids.” She looked over at them, then back at him. ”And— I’m only over here to avoid Sam. He’s my scene partner, and he sucks.”

Paul tilted his head a little. “If you do, I can’t tell.” He tried to follow her eyes and spotted the crowd— as soon as she said Sam’s name, he knew. Popular asshole, had shoved Paul into lockers a few times before he got on the basketball team. He scoffed. “Yeah, I know /that/.”

“Then you would know why I don’t wanna be near him. He’s always trying to make ‘sexual advances’ on me.” She shrugged, sighing. “So— what’s the difference between you and the other basketball guys? You don’t /seem/ that different.”

“Ew.” Paul said, face scrunching up into a raisin. He became a regular grape again when she asked about his difference from the Basketball Boys, but his face still read disgust. “Well, for one, they like it. They care. I’m not here because I want to be,” he said, not elaborating. “How are you any different from the theatre kids?”

“Yeah that makes sense, you don’t completely seem like the basketball type.” Emma, also, will not elaborate why. “None of them really like me that much. I’m a ‘legacy’ theatre kid, so they all think I only got my part because of that. I don’t /mind/ theatre, I do like it, I just don’t like most of the other kids.” She looked back at the group of them— they were now all singing some show tune together. “That too, they just— burst out into song, and it’s weird.”

Paul nodded, expression softening a little. “Yeah. It’s really weird,” he said, for once, agreeing with a theatre kid. He thought the day would never come. 

Macnamera let out a laugh, hiding in his hand. "At least it's not Freshman Friendship Fridays? You gotta hand it to him, he tries."

Xander exhaled, smiling, putting his shades back in their place at the top of the bridge of his nose. “I mean, yeah. But, whatever he wants, it’s not gonna happen. We’re sworn from birth to be bitter enemies. That’s just how it is.”

He smirked back. "Is that so? Well, I suppose we'll have to tell him that." He said, starting to walk down the hallway, reaching up and pulling out his hair tie. He shook his head so the hair could settle.

Xander’s eye lingered on Macnamera as he shook his hair out a little too long— he followed after him, the two making their way to the office of the head honcho.

Macnamera quirked an eyebrow at Xander for a second— huh. He walked into the front office, informed the secretary that they needed to see Mr. Davidson, and waited.

Emma smiled at him— “It really is, I don’t know why they do that.” She let out a small laugh. Making the first move of f r i e n d ship, Emma had an idea. “Can I see your phone really quick? I need to call my dad, and my phone’s dead.”

He blinked— “Oh. Sure,” he said, flipping over his phone so it could see his face and would unlock, then opened the phone app and held it out to her.

“Thanks.” Emma took his phone and opened up the contacts. She put her number in as a new contact and labeled it ‘Emma P.,’ then handed the phone back. “I didn’t actually need to call my dad,” she revealed, smirking.

His brow lowered— he instantly looked back down to his phone. “Then what did you do—“ his voice died in his throat. No one had ever been so forward before. Hell, the only contacts in his phone were his parents and his brother— not even his stepdad. The guy had drifted through high school without a single real friend. His eyes widened. “O— oh,” he said quietly, discreetly tilting his phone closer to her and opening Messages. He started a new conversation with her contact, typed out “I’m Paul”, and sent it. “Seeing your name, I thought— I haven’t told you mine.” 

“Mr. Davidson? Macnamera and Lee again. Yeah. Uh-huh.” Melissa, the secretary put the landline phone back into its holster with a satisfying click. She glanced over the counter to the two— “He can see you now.” Xander stepped ahead and turned the doorknob.

Macnamera nodded to Xander as a thank you for opening the door before walking in. "Uhm, Mr. Davidson, sir? You've scheduled our rehearsals and practices over each other, again, and it's causing a large distraction for my troupe."

Xander nodded along to what Macnamera said, frowning sternly. “I have?” Davidson asked, smiling knowingly as he looked down at the large schedule on his desk. Very clearly, underneath the banner reading ‘October,’ written on the box that was marked with the number 3, read: ‘Brigadoon Rehearsals/Basketball Practice: 2:15- 5:15.’ He looked down at it passively. “Oh. Must’ve, ah, slipped my mind.”

"But— what about last week, or the week before that? I don't mean to be disrespectful, sir, but ever since rehearsals started, they’ve fallen in time with basketball practice." He said, running a hand through his hair— maybe he should've kept it up.

“Yeah!” Xander chimed in, “Their music is /distracting./ It’s not going to be THAT hard to beat Sycamore at the championship, but this team isn’t exactly the best we’ve had. We need to be able to focus— sir.” 

Emma smiled. “Hi Paul, I’m Emma.. but you figured that out from my contact.” She found Paul’s company nice, but she didn’t know why. “I actually don’t have my phone, by the way. It’s across the gym in my bookbag, and this dress has no pockets.” She sat her hands in her lap.

He returned her expression, newly timid, then shrugged when she made the comment about the phone. “Figures. Nothing made for girls ever has pockets! Look at a pair of guy’s pants, and those pockets could hold an entire solar system. All of your pockets are either non-existent or fake, made to be slimming, continuing the stigma that you have to be thin to be attracti—-“ he stopped, realizing he was rambling, and sighed. “....I’ve exposed myself as a nerd, haven’t I.” He knew too much about the history of fashion, and pockets in particular always evoked his curiosity. Another thing that made him curious.. he’d only known this girl for maybe two minutes, tops, and he was already infodumping on her. Something about her made him open up. Weird.

Davidson cleared his throat, a certain twinkle in his eye. “Settle down, boys. I’m sure you already know, but there’s only one gym, and there’s only so much a man can do for scheduling. It would be weird to make you come back to school after leaving, and, let’s be real, no one wants to wake up even earlier in the morning,” he said, holding back a grin. “There’s nothing I can do. Why can’t you try, say, coexisting? Getting along?”

Macnamera exhaled, releasing any possible pent-up negative emotions. No, he was not going to throw hands with the principal. He was /not/ going to throw hands with the principal. "Yes, sir, I suppose we could try.”

Xander looked between Macnamera and Davidson, his own frown deepening. “Sir, is.... is that all you’re going to say?” He asked, arms crossed, nose crinkled.

“Yes.”

His mouth slowly fell open— this was it. This was their principal. This was his solution— he’d be stuck with the theatre kids for the rest of their rehearsal time. God damn it. 

“Goodbye, now,” Mr. Davidson said, shooing them away as politely as one can shoo.

Macnamera feigned a smile before walking out, fiddling with the stress ball keychain on his binder. By the time he got into the hallway, he had yanked it off, looking /this/ close to sinking his teeth into the squishable bear's face.

Emma’s eyes widened— she didn’t know he talked that much. It was nice, and he was really woke, which was more than half the boys at Hatchetfield High could say. “I knew there was something different about you! You’re actually smart, and not sexist.” She let out a small laugh. “Sorry, it’s just.. nice, to talk to a guy who isn’t only talking to me the way Sam does.” Emma paused for a second. “Not that every guy is like Sam, it’s more along the lines of— I don’t really talk to a lot of people. I have, like, one friend, and he’s at home sick.” She stopped talking, thinking everything she was saying came out wrong.

Paul smiled slightly, but as quick as it appeared, it fell. “No one should talk to anyone like how Sam talks to people. He’s an ass. It’s not hard to respect other people, you know? Especially if you have more power in society because of the way you were born, which is stupid, but it’s how it is. Objectification, pockets— it’s all part of the same system.” He agreed, brow furrowed. He just listened attentively when she spoke of her friend— he didn’t have any. 

Xander looked between Macnamera’s death grip on the bear and his face itself. “I take it you’re not happy about sharing the gym? I mean, you guys’ music is so loud, I don’t see how /we/ distract /you/,“ he said, one eyebrow cocked, not really trying to egg him on, though part of him knew it probably would. Speaking his mind was one thing Xander did well.

Macnamera paused his murder of the squishy bear to turn red, but not in frustration. Shit, he knew why they were distracting— because Macnamera was, unfortunately, too gay to think sometimes, and Xander was the reason for his time. Sue him. "You're, uh- loud, as well, and the whistle scares the technicians," he said with an oddly still voice. Hopefully he never saw him staring out of the corner of his eye.

He snickered. “Shouldn’t they be able to handle that?” He asked, smirking, “and I don’t thing sneakers squeaking is as bad as tap shoes on the stage, but go off.” He chose not to mention how the sight of the dancing, specifically one guy teaching the choreography and rhythmically counting beats, never failed to catch his eye.

“Yeah, but it’s just something I have to deal with.” Emma shrugged. She looked at the group of theatre kids getting ready to practice. “I should probably go, I am a fairly big role.” She walked away for a beat, then turned back to him and smiled— “I’ll text you. See ya,” she said, and as she walked into the group of kids, she was immediately approached by Sam. He put his arm on her shoulder, but she threw it off, disgusted. She looked back at Paul and once again shrugged.

“You shouldn’t have to,” he said, frowning. “Okay— bye,” he half-waved to her. Something shifted in his chest. It was confusing, actually talking to someone. He hadn’t done that, had a conversation that wasn’t just small talk, in a while. His face contorted into a grimace as Sam wrapped an arm around the girl— Emma. Asshole. He frowned, meeting her eye from across the room before glancing back down to the shining floor.


	2. in which the boy is pulled in a new direction (the direction is down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more drama. these idiots have clearly never heard the song you need to calm down by taylor swift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if I’m verbally assaulting anyone in the comments it’s because they are the people who wrote this with me claiming to be on the edge of their seats 

A week passed, and— wouldn't you know it, the theatre kids open the gym doors to find the Basketball Boyz™. 

That's fine though, because John Macnamera, teen theatre manager, has a plan. He does not see and will not see. He walked in, leading the theatre kids and did not look at Xander. The boys were not there. This was a perfectly empty gym.

Xander was all too busy supervising a practice match, the team split in half and playing against each other. Currently, Houston had the ball, and was moving faster and faster on the offensive to the opposite side of the court.

“Come on, let’s hustle, guys!” Xander called, following the action, clapping his hands together. Houston was going for the shot—

Number 12 leapt up into the air and blocked it, knocking the ball in the direction of a teammate who started right back to the other side. 

“Nice, Matthews!” Called Lee. Paul took a split second to smile over at him, then got his-got his-got his head back in the game. Even though he hated the game, who didn’t like being praised?

"Alright, fill in— we can start the dancing while they set up the lights," John directed as someone set down a chair for him. 

"Here you go, mister father figure."

"Thank you Gary, you uh— aaand he's gone, alright.." He sighed, before looking around. "Where is- Perkins! Can you come here, please?"

Emma was not wearing her costume this rehearsal, instead opting for regular rehearsal clothes. She was once again staring at the basketball boys— a certain one in particular, but she stopped when she heard her name. She walked over to Macnamera. “What’s up?”

"You good to teach dancing today? I think they've got the choreo down, and I need to see it from the seats," he said before leaning in a little, lowering his voice. "And— don't stare at the basketball boys, alright? This is war."

“Uh, I guess so, but— none of them listen to me.” She gave Macnamera a blank expression. “I won’t stare if you don’t,” was her ultimatum. She knew who he kept looking at.

"Well, uhm- he— get to work, Perkins," he said, his cheeks painting red as he sat down, staring at the floor. "Please."

Around five minutes later, and the large clock on the scoreboard hit zero with a loud buzz. Paul’s team had won the game— he half-smiled, receiving some rather clammy high-fives from his teammates and partial glares from the other side, particularly Tom Houston. He picked up his water bottle and gulped some down, taking one of his trusty Basketball Towels from his gym bag and wiping some sweat from his brow, then the back of his neck. He’d wash it later that night. 

Xander, for the first time that practice, glanced up at the stage. For once, the theatre kids hadn’t distracted him.... hm. Still, seeing McNamara ordering those kids around made something leap in his chest. He pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, forcing his expression to remain indifferent and his eyes to look back to his boys.

Macnamera flinched slightly at the loud buzzer. "Alright, let's just take ten, get some water then we'll go over the second half of act one." He called out, still not letting his eyes drift to the basketball boys— instead distracting himself by taking off his hat and his pony tail.

Half the musical kids didn’t listen to Emma when she was running the dances session— she was more than happy to take a break. She went over to her book bag and grabbed her water bottle, then grabbed her phone and looked at social media for a minute. She looked up from her phone and saw Paul across the gym— she opened up Messages, clicked on the contact ‘Paul’, and typed out,   
“Good job, Basketball.” She looked over at him, waiting for him to read it.

Xander stood, eyeing his boys as they ran and talked and chugged and/or poured water over their heads like men. Magical. He glanced over to check the clock on the scoreboard wall when— Jesus fuck Macnamera was doing the hair thing again. He had to step away or else his heartbeat wouldn’t slow down. Who even said his heart sped up because of Macnamera, anyway? Commentating a Varsity basketball game is a rough gig. He exhaled, willing his breath to steady and his heart to slow.

Paul, who had been doing his small-talk thing with a few of the guys until they started to feel weird and walk off, had just pulled out his phone when it vibrated with the text from ‘Emma P.’ His eyes widened slightly— he turned his head to look across the room, and there she was, looking at him. He smiled, only vaguely considering that, in order to know he’d done a good job, she would’ve had to be looking at him longer than that. Before he could truly think of the implications, a separate thought entered his brain- Lee had said rather loudly, “Good job, Matthews.” Maybe she just heard that— but, she didn’t know his last name.... he was overthinking things again. She probably thought he was odd or something, or he’d been doing something weird. Damn. He quickly responded ‘Thanks!’ before he could overthink if the exclamation point was too pushy, or why the hell she’d actually been looking at him.

Macnamera sighed softly, going over his binder. Feeling eyes on him, he looked up, seeing Xander before Gary, who stood in front, carrying written complaints. Weird guy. He looked down, reading, 'Scoreboard is distracting for sound tests.' A groan emitted from him as he walked over to talk to Xander, right now, because he had to.

Emma took a a couple sips of her water and tightened her ponytail, then saw a response from Paul. She had texted Paul quite a few times since she gave him her number, but she still got a funny feeling every time his name flashed on the screen. Looking up from her phone again, she walked over to him. He looked very sweaty, but she didn’t care— she was only slightly less sweaty than him. The other theatre kids sideyed her.

“You’re going to have to explain basketball to me more— all I know is that when the ball goes into the basket, you get two points.” Emma said, with a slight laugh at the end.

He pocketed his phone and looked to her, face flushed, not because of her. Yet. There is no heterosexuality happening with him yet— he is oblivious and just wants a friend. The attention from someone that wasn’t his mother made him happy. “To be honest, I don’t really know the rules,” he said, laughing. “But really, all it is is hitting the ball against the ground and throwing it into hoops. Depending on where the shot is thrown from, you get a certain number of points. And you’re timed.”

“I am just going to continue watching in confusion,” she admitted. Emma really didn’t understand sports, but she’d be supportive of her friend. She /also/ didn’t understand why, when she was dancing, her eyes kept drifting to Jersey 12. It wasn’t like she liked him or anything.

Xander continued to stare at his boys until he spotted Macnamera approaching in the corner of his eye— he blinked and quickly turned to him, glancing down at his binder and then slightly up but still down (because haha height difference) at his eyes. “What’s up, Mac?”

Macnamera stared back, handing over the written complaints. "Can you turn the scoreboard off? I don't know how important it is to practice, but I do know it's interrupting sound tests, and we can't have that. I'm sure you understand," he explained, trying to be civil.

His brows furrowed up, positively aghast, disgusted. He scoffed— “OBVIOUSLY you don’t know how important it is for practice! How are we supposed to tell the time? How are we supposed to keep score? It only buzzes once every /fifteen minutes./ Can’t you time your ‘sound tests’ around that?” He asked, right before the board buzzed again. “Okay. So, maybe it buzzes whenever I set it to. But we’ve been on break, so that’s different.” He shook his head, eyes skimming the paper before he balled it up and tossed to a nearby trash can— it hit the rim and bounced out. One of the other players picked it up and placed it into the can. 

“That’s cool,” Paul said, smiling. “You don’t have to understand something for it to be entertaining. It’s funniest to me when the guys lose their shi—-“ The board buzzed, and he perked up, nearly shooting up from his seat, but Xander was still just talking to McNamara.

John laughed at that before his face turned cold. "The sound tests run... The whole damn show! Dancers need music, my dancers have started jumping more in time with that noise maker than the actual song!" He hufffed, reaching for his stress ball, "So if you could just use— I don't know, a stopwatch?? That’d be /greatly/ appreciated."

“Again, your music lasts way longer than our buzzer does. Can’t you just, I don’t know, take a two second break when it buzzes? Huh? I think that’s a compromise.” Xander then scoffed again. “I’m not— stop—- STOP WATCH? No! This is a /basketball team/, not a ninth grade gym class.”

Emma quickly covered her ears as the buzzer went off. “I hate that thing— it’s so fucking loud.” She brought her hands down when it stopped. “I’m surprised you guys don’t get distracted by the music— I get distracted by the shoe squeaking on the court, and that’s way quieter than our music.”

Paul was used to the sound of the buzzer— he tilted his head, slightly confused, and when he finally understood, his lips parted into a small ‘o.’ His nose scrunched up a little at her mention of the music. “Oh, it distracts me. I don’t know about the other guys, but the singing makes me very uncomfortable— no offense,” he quickly added.

“None taken,” Emma laughed. “And that sucks for you.” She took a sip of the water she brought over with her. “I don’t mind the basketball team being in here too much. I get to see you, and it distracts Macnamera enough for us to get extra breaks.”

Paul, once again, did not think of the implications. Well, he did, but he forced it out of his mind— if he thought too long about why she might like looking at him, he might start to feel things that weren’t friendly, and this was his one shot at a friend. He had to nail the friendship bit first. He didn’t want to be the cliché straight guy who falls for the first girl to give him attention. That’s just desperate. He smiled knowingly. “Yeah. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the extra time to get some water.”

Macnamera's eyes rolled so hard, they could've fallen out of his head. "Oh, you could've fooled me." He snarked back nails digging into his stress ball even more. He felt himself getting angrier around Xander, and he didn't know why. Maybe it was because he'd never backed down from a fight with him, or maybe it was that, when they’re alone, they get along. Maybe, though he tried to push it to the back of his brain, it's because Macnamera had a crush on Xander last year (current crush standing unstated), and if he hadn't started this year fighting with him, he would've asked him out. "Look, can't you step off your high horse and do this /one/ thing?"

His mouth fell open. “No! I guess I can’t!” He said, brows furrowing, frown deepening. Macnamera hadn’t been this much of an ass in a while— he huffed, shaking his head. “Look, man. I know this show is important to you guys, but this tournament could make or break the school. Isn’t there some way you could just compromise?”

"Yes, just use the fucking stopwatch! This one thing— is all I ask— this one thing!" He paused, taking in the rest of Xander's sentence. "Important to /us/? It's important to everyone! It's art! Not fucking— throwing around a ball." His stress ball snapped off its holder— in fact, he tossed down the whole binder, the loud smack reverberating through the gym. "You— you’re insufferable! You know that?"

Emma smiled, “Yeah, it’s nic-“ she cut herself off, caught off guard by a loud ass noise from across the gym. Her head immediately turned. “Oh, shit—” She looked up to Paul. “What’s happening over there?”

“They’re fighting again,” Paul said, exasperatedly, yet with wide eyes, “But Macnamera threw the theatre book this time. I don’t know what’s going on— usually they don’t do more than bicker..”

“Throwing around a ball——?!” Xander began, then leapt back, gasping. “Jesus Christ! No one gives a shit about Brigadoon! There are no stakes for you guys, no stakes other than stage drama and lighting. We have scholarships on the line, scouting, reputations! We can win, or we can lose. And right now, you’re making us all losers!”

Macnamera gasped at that, but it slowly turned into growl as he stepped forward, closing the distance for Jesus between them. He balled up the front of Xander's shirt, pulling him down to eye level. He was too tall to yell at, but he didn't yell. His voice was low and gravely, like a blade was against his throat. "/I/ give a shit about Brigadoon, I give a shit about a production of a play these kids have been working their asses off for because their wimpy-ass theatre teacher bailed out— so, yeah, I could care less about your little game. That is one game for you against fucking Sycamore, /this/ on the other hand is one in three musicals that we get to do, so this is gonna be the BEST fucking show, and not even you will get in my way." He pulled him closer, just a breath away. “Capisce?"

Xander’s brain: I am not gay.

Xander’s brain, feeling McNamara’s warm breath hit his cheeks, staring into his eyes, and hearing the low gravel in his voice: I am gay.

“Point taken,” he huffed, not letting his scowl or voice falter, though the stern words resonated and tugged at something in his gut once again. “You do your thing, I’ll do mine. Deal?”

“Macnamera can be fairly intense when he wants,” she noted, watching as the guys fought. She took a sip of her water, then almost choked at the shirt pulling. “Oh, shit.” Her eyes widened— she paused for a second. “They have a lot of sexual tension,” she whispered, nudging Paul’s arm.

“I guess he can,” Paul mused, then muttered “oh, shit” as Emma had when Xander got pulled in. When Emma made that comment, he squinted, looking to her, then to them. Their faces were very close.... that was when it hit him. People are gay! These bitches gay! Good for them. Good for them. “..I guess you’re right.”

"Use the stopwatch, or I will send you into next Tuesday the next time I hear that infernal noise maker." He didn't move just yet, but he did loosen his death-like grip on Xander's shirt. He was close enough to see past the sunglasses, and— something in Xander's eyes was.. odd. It made him need to fight back a blush. He felt like he was stuck in a weird made for dvd movie.   
"Understood?"

Xander felt something like static at the center of his spine, something strange and electric. He tried to hold it in, clearing his throat. “Then I guess I’ll have to study for my Trig test sooner than I thought,” he said coldly, stepping back from his grip and smoothing his shirt, zipping his track jacket up over it, feeling his own heart beating through the two layers of clothes as he did so. 

Emma looked to him, confused for a second. ‘Did he not know that they were- okay,’ was exactly what went through her head. “Yeah,” Emma kinda stood there for a second, then looked at the time. “Oh— rehearsal needs to start again. I’ll talk to you later, Paul.” She hopped up and walked over to the gays. “Sorry to interrupt whatever this is, but if we don’t start up rehearsal within the next minute, we’ll be here till 6:00, and I want to leave at 5:30, so. Let’s get started again.” 

“Oh— bye,” Paul said, eyes following her as she left— his head tilted seeing where exactly she was headed. He held back a gasp, brows raising, and sat forward in his seat. The balls on her.

Macnamera coughed, softly, picking up his binder. The blush he’d been struggling to hold back finally appeared on his face as he straightened himself out, muttering a "thank you Perkins" before walking back to his position. “Let's get to work!"


End file.
